


no command over tomorrow

by tremontaine



Series: holy city [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Femsub, Multi, PWP, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2930492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremontaine/pseuds/tremontaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha wanted to try something new, and there wasn't much Bucky wouldn't do if she asked him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no command over tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> The feelings are Steve/Bucky/Natasha but all the sex in this fic is between Natasha and Bucky; you could read it as a sequel to "i feel the fire; come on let's fan it", but only in the sense that that's where Natasha first brings up the idea of subbing.

See, this – this was the scary part. Sex, meh. Sex was something she did with her body, like she fought with it or danced; for all those things, she could step outside herself and watch it happening and walk back into her head again when it was over, if she had to. Not that she’d ever had to when it came to sex. That was the up side of – of being as good at her job as she was.

Anyway. The scary part.

“This,” said James, “is officially the best part.” The way he looked her up and down was absolutely illegal.

Natasha licked her lips. “You’re ridiculous.” Perhaps her voice was a little too steady. James leaned in and kissed her, slow and gentle, brush of his lips over hers, again, again, then took her lower lip between his teeth gently, licked at the soft, wet inside. Natasha’s breathing was quick and uncertain.

“I like looking at you,” he said against the corner of her lips, her jaw, her chin. “I like looking at you in sunlight. I like looking at you in sunlight, in a bed, knowin’ I’ve got all day to do whatever we want to do, knowin’ no one cares, no one’s ever gonna come looking for us.”

Damn him anyway. She rolled her head sideways on the pillow, frowning at the bay windows, the fall of late-afternoon sunlight. “Except Steve.”

A finger traced circles around her right nipple, rubbed it, stroked and curled around it. “Except Steve. You know what’d happen if he got back?”

“You know I don’t.” She wasn’t nervous. It was stupid to be nervous. All she had to do was say ‘no’; all she had to do was tap out. The ropes would go, the game would be over.

“Oh he’d probably bang around in the kitchen for half an hour with groceries and mail and god alone knows what else. Make a sandwich, drink a coffee, wonder where we’ve got to – out for a run? Over to the Tower?”

Natasha laughed, but it was shaky and soft. “We’ll be here –“

“Oh we’ll be here.” He was playing with her left nipple now, sitting so close she could feel the heat off his skin, but not actually touching, not anywhere but that finger on her tit. “We’ll be here. Well. Maybe change position a little bit. Got time though. You know how he’s gonna know? You’re gonna scream.”

That was just straight-up funny. “You know I don’t.” He knew why she didn’t, too – the same reason he didn’t.

“Stop ruining it.” He pinched her nipple gently, but that wasn’t a punishment. Her legs slid together, knees knocking, newly-shaved skin supple and soft. He had done that; they had showered together, and he’d said, may I? and taken the razor, held her foot in his lap and just –

“Sorry.” It was hard to be contrite when he was looking at her like that. “Gonna get a punishment?”

“You asking for one?”

She thought about it. “No.”

“Then we’re moving on apace to the fantasy where Steve comes through that door while I’m still inside you making you scream, and when I’m done he’s gonna be standing at the end of this bed with his pants round his ankles waiting to have you, and you’ll lie here and beg him for it before I’m even finished.”

“Yes,” Natasha said, blank and mindless. Her face was hot and her hands were trembling in the loose soft bonds, fingers clenching and unclenching around the ropes. Yes. Steve just – Steve would – and she’d be fucked out and sweaty and shaking and wet with her own come and James’; Steve would look at her with that sharp, possessive look, the one he knew perfectly well turned her on beyond all reason. She could picture perfectly the weight of his hands gripping her thighs, the slick slide of his cock inside her. She closed her eyes against James’ expression: avid, wanting, excited.

“You know what happens after that?” It was almost a croon. Her mouth was dry. Natasha shook her head, eyes still tight shut, and then, Christ alive, he kissed her eyelids gently, gently. “Neither do I. Option one, I take him while he’s inside you, slick him all up with your come. Option two, you suck me off while he’s inside you. Any preference? Oh no, wait, I forgot.” His mouth brushed hers again, his breath hot on her lips. “You don’t get a preference. Not today.”

That was a little too much.

He could tell at once, he knew, he knew, the slow warm kiss, the slide of his hands down her flanks was soothing, gentling. “Open your eyes.” She did, because he’d told her to, saw his face above hers, leaning over her the way he had a thousand times before, smiling, loving. “Hey.” His hand stroked her cheek, her shoulder. Natasha sighed, feeling all twisted up and stupid, following the line of his jaw, his nose, the shape of his eyes and mouth, the fall of his hair over his forehead, features she had touched, over and over, in the dark, learnt by heart in hidden corners, in desperate seconds snatched out of the ugliness of their lives. She was so glad of that damn mask sometimes, glad she had not had to see his face when he had raised that gun to shoot her. Everything they were to each other had been torn away from them, torn to shreds, but his face had not been tainted, not for her.

“Sorry.”

“Heyyy.” James kissed her chin, her cheeks, the line of her nose. “What for. I love you.” He threw the words around like confetti, except that they were only ever meant for two people in the world, and she was one of them. She curled up around him as best she could, smiling ruefully.

“I asked for this so I _wouldn’t get_ a preference.”

“There’s a fine line, apparently. I’m sorry.” More kisses, soft and softer, like he thought she would spook, though the touch of his hands was firm and confident. Body heat so near, and his hands and mouth; the mood was by no means dead, it had just flagged a bit. Oh, yes, play with her ears. Go on. Natasha pressed close, turning onto her side awkwardly and pressing her knees up against his ass, the small of his back; it stretched her arms uncomfortably but he had full and unimpeded access to her left ear, and she was closer to him – if the ropes were longer she could bend her head and suck his cock, she thought, or at least the head.

“Go back to those pretty things you were saying about sunlight and beds and me.”

He laughed against the wet, maltreated shell of her ear, his hands rolling her onto her back again, stern. “Ah-ah. There you are.” And there you’ll stay till I say different. It was almost sexier that he didn’t say it. “Look at you.” He kept caressing her with his left hand, long slow strokes along her flank, cool and teasing, or a gentle touch circling her breasts or navel. Natasha shifted her hips, arched her back, chasing his fingers on her. She didn’t know whether to stare at the ceiling or the light glinting on his arm or the slight curl of his hair as it hung in his face; all she was sure of was that she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You gonna sit there all evening?”

“Just looking at you? I am kinda tempted.”

“Ugh.” She shifted happily, flexing her fingers again, rubbing her feet against the sheet. “Why? So many more interesting things…”

James laughed. “According to the internet, men are just more visually oriented.”

“Please. Watching you and Steve fuck gets me off in less than no time.”

“I’ve noticed. Stop thrashing, darlin’, you’ll wear yourself out.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” She bit her lip, laughing up at him. “If all you’re gonna do is watch me…”

“Anyone ever tell you patience is a virtue?”

Nothing Natasha had pictured suggested it might be funny – that you could bicker and tease and laugh even doing this – but she thought she might have guessed. It was impossible to do a thing with either of her boys without being made to laugh sooner or later. They were very determined about it, as if they actually thought they had seventy years of joking around to catch up on. Natasha was charmed by every second of it.

“Not so’s you’d notice,” she said, an uninspiring comeback to a remark already forgotten: James had bent his head and taken her right nipple in his mouth, sucked and licked at it, over and over, slow wet circles and kittenish laps of his tongue. Natasha moaned. He pulled off, the bastard.

“There,” he said. “Something more interesting.”

“Oh, oh god.” She was furious. He laughed, a low warm rumble – he had a trick of laughing quietly, suppressed, as if in the back of his throat; it sounded a little like a purr. He didn’t laugh out loud very often at all.

“Oh don’t worry. Do I look like I’m done with you?” His left hand was braced on the mattress by her armpit; his right was on the other side of her body, an arch above her chest, and the mattress dipped under her when he moved to stretch out at her side. His thigh slid between hers; immediately she wrapped her legs around his, his hair was tickling her breasts, and then he applied himself to the left one with the same thorough attention he had given to the right. Her cunt was aching, swollen wide, and the scratch of his leg hair against the soft skin of her inner thighs was doing nothing to help. Natasha gasped and moaned and writhed about, wanting more but not quite daring to really try and grind against his thigh. James was calling the shots; that was the point, that was what she’d asked for. She didn’t want to – to be the one who did anything.

There was a crack in the corner of the ceiling that looked like a human foot had pressed down on the plaster from up in the attic. Cars passed on the street outside, and a bird was singing. James had shaved late today, and his cheeks were smooth as he kissed her breasts, her sternum, her collarbones, slow trail from her throat to her shoulders and back. Finally he kissed her mouth, softly.

“Please,” she said.

“What d’you want?”

Took a breath. “You decide what I want today. Remember?”

That earned her a smile. “Good girl. Yes, I do.”

What was she, a pet? But he had praised her; that made her cunt clench, made her wet.

“Tell me,” she said. Silence, and that warm regard, made her twitchy again; it was better when he talked, it made her feel safe to hear his voice, hear him speak words no enemy would ever say to her.

He smiled. “You do like me to talk, don’t you.” Didn’t wait for an answer – already at her tits again, licking her nipples one after the other, she kept count, she couldn’t not, groaning: three – four slow circles of his tongue; then the other one. After a minute, he said, “I asked you a question,” breath blowing hot over her wet skin.

He had? Oh. Oh, yes. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Yes, what. No creepy titles, they’d agreed, so what did he – oh. “Yes, I like to hear you talk.” Her voice was raspy.

“Why?” He sounded curious. He was kissing her ribs, head turned to follow the curve of them out to her sides.

Natasha said, “I like the sound of your voice. It makes me feel safe.”

She could feel him smile against her skin. “Just safe?”

She giggled. “Depends what you’re saying.”

“Fair.” He chuckled. “Does Steve’s?”

“Sure. A little differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Oh! I don’t – there isn’t a way to – oh what are doing –“ What he was doing was moving away from her, and that just wasn’t allowed, just wasn’t fair.

“Shh. Still here. Not done with you, remember? Not nearly done.” His hands stroked her thighs, she craned her head off the pillow to look, he was kneeling between them, caressed the back of them from the hollows of her knees to her ass. “I ever tell you what great legs you’ve got?”

“Once or twice.”

He grinned. “Once or twice.” The sides of her ass, her hips; his right thumb pressed lightly against the Odessa scar. “I see you in my nightmares, you know, lying there on that road.” Well that broke the mood. She glared. Then he bent and kissed it. “My beautiful girl.” Oh Christ. “My Natalya.” That was worse. “It’s perfectly _you_ to turn your nickname into a shield and your formal one into a diminutive. You know, it gets me going a little, that I’m the only one who calls you that – the only one who gets that part of you. The only one. You know what this room needs?” Talk about a non-sequitur. “Answer me.” Gentle, but an order.

“No,” she managed. “No, I don’t.”

“Guess.” That was just teasing. She stuck her tongue out at him, and his hands tightened on her thighs involuntarily. “A mirror on the ceiling, so you could see yourself in moments like this one, see how beautiful you are, how good for me, how perfect. All laid out for me – tryin’ not to show how wild you are for it. Don’t think I can’t tell. Way you’re chewing your mouth, way your hips move, way your fingers twitch, I know. You want to be fucked till you can’t see straight, want me inside you till kingdom fucking come.”

She did. She closed her eyes, sighing, imagining that mirror, pressed her legs into his sides because she couldn’t rub them together and heard his laughter again.

“Yeah. Eager. Think you can wait a little bit longer? I’ve got plans.”

Christ.

“Making you wet?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good. First on the list. Think you can come from me just playing with your tits?”

“No,” she said immediately and desperately, “no, don’t try it, don’t bother, just fuck me, please, please –“

He tried it. Lay between her legs this time, propped on his elbows to either side of her, weight on her lower body so every twitch of her hips pressed her against his chest; every time her legs moved helplessly they moved against his skin. She didn’t have to move them; could’ve clenched them still at his sides, but oh, oh, this was – she wasn’t going to come from this alone, and he knew it, but oh to just close her eyes and feel – to know nothing except the sound of her own quick breathing in her ears, his weight on her, his clever mouth –

“I think,” he said at long long last, rolling her nipple between his fingers, “the experiment is a bust.” He kissed her other nipple again. “Never mind.” Her tits were aching, heavy and sensitive. She wasn’t fucking whining. She was just very, very frustrated.

“James,” she said, mouth dry as dust. “ _James_.”

“Natalya, my Natalya.” He was laughing again. “You’re doing so beautifully well.” His hands splayed on her sides, so big he could almost span her waist with his fingers, kissing her ribs again, her abdomen, oh yes, further, go on, hot breath stirring her pubic hair, he knelt up and picked her up by the hips, half her body off the mattress, urged her right leg over his shoulder. Natasha said, “Please,” again.

“Keep talking,” he said. “I like hearing you talk, too.”

Halfway through it dissolved into Russian, English words for even the simplest things sliding out of her grasp, it was too much effort to translate, not that she needed to with him, not that she’d ever needed to; she wanted him so much, she needed him so much, his mouth on her was perfect, perfect, she loved his mouth, the way he smiled and bit his lips and licked at them, never got tired of him eating her out, she’d do anything, anything, please, please, this was torture, this was not what she’d had in mind (that made him laugh), this wasn’t fair, put her down and fuck her, just do it, she wanted his cock inside her, wanted him to fill her up, stretch her wide, wanted him to just – _just_ –

“Let you come?”

She was shaking, a little, still wound up and wanting, this was not a damn bit better than before, what was he _doing_ to her. His mouth when he kissed her was wet and sticky and salty-bitter with her own come, and she wanted to bite at it – wanted to pull her hands out of the loose knots and push him off the bed and ride him till he begged – to sit on his face and just – to hold him down and open him up and fuck him through the mattress, yes, but –

But it wasn’t up to her. It wasn’t. She didn’t get to do anything. She didn’t get to decide, wasn’t allowed to pick, wasn’t in charge, didn’t even get an equal say, was tied to this headboard like this because it wasn’t up to her, because he was the one with the choices here, the one with the power, the one who gave the orders, and everything she did, everything she said, she did or said because he told her to, because he wanted her to.

“Natasha, sweetheart.” The ceiling was about all she could see, her heartbeat thundering. “Natasha.”

“Yes,” she rasped. He lifted her a little, pushed another pillow underneath her head and shoulders, straddled her chest. His cock was damp with pre-come, thick and red.

“Suck me off. Make me come.”

No, no, he was supposed to fuck her. Fingers in her hair, steady hands holding her head. “Trust me.” Dirty pool. “You’ll get what you want.” She didn’t even know what she wanted, except that she wanted him inside her. Her mouth was dry; she worked some moisture into it, bent her head forwards, kissed the vein on the underside, took the head into her mouth. “There. Yes. Oh, Tasha, you’re perfect, that’s perfect, your mouth, sweetheart, so hot, Christ. Ah!” Curses and unintelligible endearments; he was speaking Russian, she thought distantly, why, they so rarely did that. He tasted musky, bitter, was hot and heavy on her tongue, stretching her mouth, her neck and shoulders began to ache quickly but that didn’t matter, he was so close, he wanted her to make him come so she would, she would, whatever he wanted, whatever he told her to do, she knew what he liked, knew what got him off –

When he came she swallowed it, only gagging a little, he was bent over her head leaning on the wall behind, gasping, chest heaving. Oh he was beautiful like this. She’d done this. She had done this to him. It made her weirdly proud. He lay beside her again, red-faced, still breathing hard, and kissed his own come from around her mouth, her lips were puffy and swollen, surely, sensitive like her tits.

“Thank you.” His nose bumped against hers gently, then came back and rubbed it, an Eskimo kiss. “So good to me.” That made her shudder. “Love you so much.” That was worse. He smiled, seeing it. Propped up on his left elbow, his right hand was free to wander, and it did, circling her tits again, her navel, fingers combing through her pubic hair, brushing it away from her clit. Tight quick circles, just the way she liked it – if it had been in her nature she would’ve shouted – her mouth fell open and her body stiffened – he kissed her, chasing the taste of his own come in her mouth, and she came again, writhing madly. This time he caressed her through it, drew the aftershocks out. Oh god, was he getting hard again already? Panting, she lay against him and shook. After a moment he pulled back – no – but he didn’t go anywhere; a damp washcloth cooled her hot face, wiped the stickiness from her thighs. He kissed up her right arm, lips on the soft sensitive skin above her armpit, trailing up to her elbow.

“Talk to me again.”

She sighed. “Yes. What about?”

Chuckle. “If you’re OK?”

“More than.”

“Shall I untie you?”

Carefully she pulled on the knots, testing the ache in her arms and shoulders. Carefully she said, “If you want to.”

“All right.” He didn’t untie her. That made her happy. But she suspected it would’ve made her just as happy if he had. Anything he wanted, anything he chose. She was… floating. When he held a glass of water to her lips she sipped, when he kissed her she kissed back, when he touched her she moaned, what he asked for she gave. Long deep silence, outside sounds filtering in: cars again, kids calling to one another, the wind in the tree by the window. Slow kisses, his touch warm and sure. Finally he sighed.

“Thought about getting the vibrator out.”

Because he was evil. She sighed herself. “Did you?”

“Still might. Sit here and watch you take it.”

“Take as much as you wanted me to.”

This kiss was deeper, rougher. “You,” he said, “do not get to say things like that.”

“M’sorry.”

“Liar.” Another kiss. His mouth was swollen too. He smiled against her lips, all passion and laughter. “I do love you.”

“Stop saying it.”

He laughed. “I love you. I love you. I love you. Take that.” Figure-eights around the Odessa scar, his thigh heavy across her own. Then fingers on her face, turning her head on the pillow gently. “Why can’t you look at me?”

Natasha forced her eyes open. His face again, very near, every detail of it known and loved. “I don’t know.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push yourself.”

She sighed again. “Not pushing. Nothing like… not even thinking. Everything’s yours.” Her eyes fell closed again, and she heard the sharp, sudden intake of his breath. Then he kissed her once more.

“My Natalya.” Yes – exactly her point. She would’ve said it out loud but everything felt too good. “Listen, beauty, will you do something for me?” It wasn’t a real question. She opened her eyes again, smiling dizzily. “Open your legs for me.” Amusement rippled across her mind. Was that it? Of course not. Fingertip on her clit again, lightly lightly, and it was like something pulling on strings in her thighs, making them tense and shiver. She was hollow again and clenching up… breathing quick, bit at her lips, tugged on the ropes, more out of a kind of habit than anything else. No time, no time at all. How did he do that to her?

“Shh. Trust me.” She did, oh, she did. He needed to do something, stat, he needed to – to tell her what he wanted, ask her for something…

“What do I do?”

“Hmm?”

“Let me do something for you. Let me –“ She didn’t know. It wasn’t up to her to decide anyway.

For a moment he was silent. Then he said, “On your front.” She went, gladly, easily, at once, his hand brushed across her ass and then slid between her legs again, her arms were crossed at the wrist uncomfortably, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter a damn. He undid the knots, re-tied them so her wrists were pressed together instead of each separately; now, bound by that single rope, he could move her any which way he wanted. Her face was in the pillows, her hair a curtain around it. He was kissing her spine, her shoulder-blades, the plane and hollows of her back. New stretch of sheet underneath her, worn smooth, cool, welcoming. Was it still daylight? She didn’t know…

Something cool and smooth touched the small of her back, traced over her ass. His left hand was body-warm, and this was thicker besides; she twisted about curiously, and he said, “Open your legs,” again, so she did, drawing her knees up a little, and oh it was the vibrator. Oh god. Oh fucking hell. Desire choked her; anticipation made her stomach hollow. "There. Move so sweet for me, all that beauty, all that strength. You figure it out?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. It lay against her cunt, still.

“Tell me what you’re gonna do.”

“Take” – her throat was dry – “take as much as you want me to.”

“Beauty,” he said, and pushed it inside her, inch by slow inch. She cried out softly, spread her legs further, it was not, it was absolutely not what she really wanted, which was his cock, still, but oh it felt good. And then he turned it on. Her breath stuttered. Every nerve in her body came alight, every inch of her skin hyper-sensitive, he twisted it a little, drew it out, not all the way, pushed back in, she moaned, wanton, and heard him laugh harshly. “As much as _I_ want you to? Listen to you. Little above and beyond, don’t you think?” In, making her shake, and out, making her moan. She thought she might bite into the pillows in another minute. “You know what?” And then it was gone. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Jealous,” she gasped. “Nothing’s better than you.”

“Unless it’s Steve.” He laughed. “Remember where we started? Him walking in, finding you all tied up and wet and wanting.”

Might, at this rate, even happen. Steve wasn’t due back for three more days but she wasn’t sure she’d ever leave this bed again. “Yes. Oh yes.” She had had a hard time admitting it to herself, but that was something she loved: to have them both fuck her, one after the other, to be traded off between them like that was where she belonged, taken, used, marked up, filled up, over and over. He drew her hips up, off the bed, just a little ways, just enough, big hand spread across her abs, and fucked her with the vibrator again, short little strokes, barely strokes, more like twists, the vibrations on low, shaking her up, the buzzing noise loud beneath her moans, the slick noise of it sliding in and out of her.

He was breathing hard himself, his thigh pressed against hers, and – it was nearly impossible to tell, all her senses were taken up with pleasure, swamped with it – but she thought he was trembling, and she was – oh god – how was she so close, if he’d just – if she could only – her hips were moving, twisting down and up, searching for something to grind against, and then the vibrator stilled, inside her, and he drew it out agonisingly slow.

“You’re absolutely soaking, you know that? Oh my god. Gonna make even more a mess of you in a minute. Darlin’, beauty, you don’t get to come till I’m inside you, till I say you do.” He let her hips drop to the bed, reached up and snapped the rope; then, kneeling between her legs, he drew her up off the bed onto her knees, her back to his chest, his hands on her elbows holding her to him. She forced her eyes open, staring at the wall past the tangles of her hair in her eyes, saw their dim shadow, the ropes hanging empty off the headboard.

“Yes,” she said, before he could even check in. “Yes, oh yes –“ his left arm round her waist, his knees nudging hers apart, then, _finally_. He was bigger than the vibrator, thick and hot, set a pace that jangled through her body, shook every single thought out of her head. She cried out, sounding shocked even to herself, and then again and again with every thrust, little noises of delight. Looking down her body she could see his cock moving into her, the gleam of his left arm against her skin, tight as a vice. All along her back his skin slid against hers with every thrust, and his breathing was harsh and ragged in her ear.

Time went slow and thick like honey. She was trembling, held up by him and him alone, opened up, filled up, taken, owned. At some point his fingers found her chin, tilted it up and back, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder, brushing her hair to the side so he could kiss her exposed neck, her jaw. She couldn’t work out what the hell to do with her hands; settled for gripping his left arm tight, fingertips snagged on the thin gaps between the plates. Her whole body was tense and taut as a bowstring. He just kept fucking her, every thrust blurring into the next. How long had it been since she’d sat in the living room and said, let’s try this – hours, hours. She was floating again: pinned, restrained, used, she was floating. Her body was wet with perspiration, she could see it on her skin, on his arm across her waist, he tipped her head back against his shoulder again with his fingertips.

“No you don’t. See, another situation where we really need a mirror.” She clenched down on him, cried out softly. He laughed, breathless. “Next time. Oh beauty, you’re so good to me, so sweet, tighten up like you’d keep me in you forever, so hot, so slick. A-a-a. Leave your head where it is.” He was playing with her tits, quick little tugs on her nipples nearly in time with his thrusts, driving her crazy. “Can’t take me hands off you, Jesus, need more, need to be deeper in you. Listen. I lay us both down on this bed, get you to sit on my cock, what would you do?”

“Any – anything you said to do.” She wasn’t sure, until he kissed her, that she’d said it out loud. He knew, he knew. She would do what he told her, because he told her, and she would love every second.

“That’s right. Fuck yourself on it till you come for me and then keep going.” Even now, a bubble of amusement, how long did he think he could last, arrogant little – then again, she wasn’t going to last much longer, was she. “See you already, your pretty tits bouncing, how you’d lean on my chest, the face you’d make every time” – he thrust in hard and stayed there – “ _that_ face, oh, look at you.” She was writhing against him, thighs trembling, her hips moving desperately, hair sticking to her face and neck. He was so big, so big. “Come on.” He didn’t lay them down – he pulled out of her, she sobbed angrily, pushed her forwards into the pillows and manhandled her onto her back again almost in the same movement, god almighty, throw her around some more. It made her helpless, dizzy.

“Don’t think you’ve got enough concentration left to do it, to be honest.” Self-satisfied little grin. “Oh did you like that? Bein’ manhandled? Answer me. Answer me.”

Too much effort. She was twisting about obscenely, her hands at her hot face, pushing her hair back. “Yes – yes I liked it. Ah, please, come on, it was perfect, it was perfect, come _back_.”

“What was perfect?” Cruel, this was just cruel. “Getting fucked or getting manhandled?”

“Both.” She was breathless and shaking with desperation. “Both, both, love being thrown around by you, makes me helpless, makes everything fade, love you in me, owning me, take me, _take me_ –” she flung her hands out to touch him – he batted them away one-handed, was gripping the base of his cock with the other.

“Grip the headboard. Yeah. Love what that does to your tits, to be honest, how you curve your back up – yes, like that, shoulders on the mattress, so perfect, my beautiful girl. Mine. That what you need to hear? Mine? You are. You always were.” His hands were on her thighs, her hips, his cock wet with both of them, his eyes hooded, dark, mouth bitten red, chest heaving. She sobbed: his, yes, his. “You think a wipe and a decade was gonna change that?” Apparently not. Oh why, why couldn’t he put his money where his mouth was, the bastard, but she could take it, she would take it, for him, for him. If this was what he wanted from her she would bear it, she would stay this way till he told her different, she would, she couldn’t not. “ _Mine_.” Her face was wet, her senses dissolved into desire. She was writhing under his hands, rubbing herself against the sheet.

“Love you bein’ on display for me. You hide so much, it gets me where I live. Steve too, I know that. Oughta text him pictures. Caption ‘em _look what you’re missin’_.” His accent was slurring, his voice two octaves deeper than normal, and while she was moaning at the thought of Steve opening up his phone in a mission briefing and seeing her like this he pushed inside her again.

“Put your legs round my waist.” He fell forwards, onto his elbows, close enough to kiss her mouth, their bodies pressed tight together. She wanted to put her hands in his hair and scratch up his back and grip his ass as he fucked her; she flexed her fingers around the headboard instead and kissed him back. The bed was moving, every thrust was jolting her up the mattress, her breasts were sliding against his chest, their breathing and the slap of skin overwhelmingly loud, it was almost too much, now, almost hurt with how badly she needed to come, but she didn’t get to, did she, not till he told her, not till he let her, just like she didn’t get to move her hands if he didn’t tell her to, didn’t get to drop her legs to the mattress, didn’t get to roll them over and ride him till he begged. Everything she did, she did because of him. He owned her, right now, whole and entire, and everything she was was his; the world beyond him was a hazy nonentity, all her senses narrowed to his touch and voice and his cock driving into her, taking her apart.

“Tasha, love.” His voice was wrecked. “Touch yourself. Go on. Fingers on your clit. Make yourself come. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Her hands were shaking, but it didn’t exactly take much concentration to push one between their bodies, find her own clit, swollen and hard. He kissed her again, open-mouthed; she pressed down, rubbed at herself –

 

She was breathing hard; that was the first thing. She was shaking, too, and trapped under James, who wasn’t too steady himself. Had she – had she blacked out? She’d never hear the end of it. Her right hand was trapped between their bodies; her left he’d taken from the headboard and let drop to the mattress. Everything was sore, and everything was beautiful. She was dizzy, drunk, wrecked, off her head, his.

Giddy with pleasure, Natasha started to laugh. After a second, she felt James join in, felt it ripple through his body, too wiped out to make much noise.

“Are you OK?” he managed at last.

She said, “Yes.” It was about the only word she could get out. She was still giggling helplessly. Unwrapping her legs from around his waist took heroic effort.

“Oh my god,” James said against her shoulder. “That was spectacular.”

“Steve would hate us if we sexted him,” she said. Spectacular didn’t _begin_ to cover it. Would she ever walk again, that was the question.

“I knooooooow,” he said. “He’d never talk to us again.”

“He’d probably move out.”

“He would. Oh my god.” James forced himself back up onto his elbows and pulled out of her gently; then he was groping around on the bedside table for the washcloth, cleaned them both up. Natasha squirmed to get close to him; laughed when he tossed the washcloth onto the floor with a damp splat, and settled into his arms, sighing. His hands were on her gentle and soothing.

“I think I forgot your name for a while there.”

He groaned. “I think I did too.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For doing that for me.” She was boneless with joy, wrung out and still floating; yet the world had come into sudden and surprising focus, all the colours brighter, the noises louder. Touch, his touch, was beautifully heightened, and her nose was full of the smell of sex and sweat.

“Yeah, I didn’t enjoy it at all.”

She poked him in the ribs with a fingertip. “ _You’re welcome_ is the accepted response.”

James sighed. “You’re welcome, Natalya.”

“You know what?”

“Hmm?”

“We should order pizza.”

He laughed again. “We burned off a lot of calories.”

Natasha laughed too. “Yep.”

“Later.” He held her close, slid his thigh heavy and warm over hers. Her head fit just underneath his chin, his left arm curled around her. “I did all the reading and everyone says you’re supposed to cuddle afterwards.”

“You did the reading?”

“S’called aftercare.”

“You did the _reading_.”

“Don’t tell me Natalya Romanova’s finally gone into a potentially dangerous situation completely unprepared.”

“I panicked a little bit every time I tried to think about it logically,” she admitted. “Besides, it was all about the, you know, the elaborate stuff, and I didn’t want elaborate.” I just wanted you. That was sickeningly sappy, and nonsensical besides; she already _had_ him.

“No, I get it.”

After a moment Natasha said, “The cuddling’s kinda nice.”

“So relax already.” James kissed the top of her head.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Ugh, _no_.”

+++

They dozed for a few hours; it was nearly dark when Natasha woke again and went to the bathroom on still-unsteady feet. She was starving, and she was filled with the oddest sense of peace – contentment. When she went back to bed James had flopped onto his back, right arm flung across the mattress as if he’d been looking for her. In the dim twilight his face was calm, deceptively restful, almost sweet. _You thought a wipe and a decade would make a difference?_ She smiled. The decade might have, on its own, but the thing about wipes was: when the memories came back they brought the attendant emotions along with them. And neither she nor James had tried very hard to avoid them.

This – each other – they would keep.

His eyelids flickered. “Hey.”

“Sleeping Beauty,” she said fondly, crawling on top of him and propping herself on his chest so she could look at his face. Then, because looking wasn’t enough, she traced it with her fingertips, nose, lips, cheekbones, jawline, the arch of his eyebrows –

“Don’t,” he said softly.

Her hand stilled. “Sorry.”

His arms went round her tight and possessive. “Not leaving, not hiding, and _not_ being taken away.” Steve had asked them once why they both liked to have sex during the day so much. Neither of them had quite known how to answer him – which, Steve being Steve and knowing them both the way he did, had probably been answer enough. And, the darling, he never asked to turn the lights off even when they did have sex at night.

Natasha said, “I happen to like touching you.”

James closed his eyes, smiling. “Oh. OK then.”

She flicked the end of his nose with her fingertip and kissed him when he said, “Hey!” indignantly.

+++

Three days later, so early in the morning that Natasha couldn’t believe it was already daylight, Steve got home.

“Have fun?” he said cheerfully, piling his plate with pancakes.

Natasha wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, smiling. “Yeah, you know.”

“So it went OK?”

She laughed. “I didn’t freak out.”

“That’s good.” He was smiling at her.

“Thanks for not – you know.”

“Not a clue.”

She sighed at being made to say it. “Being weird about me not asking you to do it.”

“Hey,” he said. “Does it sound unfeeling if I say I don’t care? So there’s some stuff you feel more comfortable asking Buck to do.” He shrugged, still smiling like the sun coming up to look at her. “I mean I do happen to know you love me.”

Natasha propped her chin on her hand. “Oh do you? That’s… convenient.” She looked him up and down, grinning, and couldn’t resist licking her lips a little. Steve had a thing about her mouth.

Sure enough, he flushed a little. “Can I finish the pancakes before you take me to bed?”

She waved a hand magnanimously. “Pretty sure James is still asleep.”

“Am not,” said James, wandering into the kitchen shirtless and sleep-ruffled. He tilted Steve’s head back and kissed him thoroughly. “Morning, gorgeous.”

“I found him on the front porch,” said Natasha. “You wanna keep him?”

“Can’t hurt,” James said cheerfully, and stole her coffee.

“I don’t know why I missed you both so much,” said Steve in disgust, and curled a protective arm around his plate when James turned a speculative look on the pancakes. He really was a terrible liar.

 

 


End file.
